


A Halloween to Die For - Part II

by LaBelladoneX



Series: Poetic License [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX
Summary: Her death would bring glory to Blaise Zabini, assuring him a seat at his Dark Lord's side. And Draco Malfoy would have to live with the knowledge that he'd just killed Hermione Granger, the love of his life. It was all going to plan for the Italian...... or was it?





	A Halloween to Die For - Part II

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lupine_Princess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupine_Princess/gifts).



> The first part of this fic sets the scene so please read that first - it's quite short - https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384837
> 
> Alpha/Beta thanks go to my own Weird Sisters - coyg-81, In Dreams, and Noppoh. And a massive thank you to Virgie and Diletta for helping me out with the French and Italian parts - I don't trust Google Translate anymore. 
> 
> A gift for Lupine_Princess who gave me the idea to continue the story.

###  **Previously**

Narcissa Malfoy helps her only son escape to the Order of the Phoenix where he remains safe, helping to hunt down and destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Draco falls in love with Hermione Granger; the Slytherin and the Gryffindor vow to stay together despite their tumultuous history.

Following the defeat of the Dark Lord at the Battle of Hogwarts — but not his death due to the Order’s failure to identify one final Horcrux — a price is put on Draco’s head by the remaining Death Eaters at large. He returns to the school with Hermione that September for their own protection whilst his mother remains at Malfoy Manor, nursing her seriously wounded master, hopeful no one knows of her deceit.  
  
Draco spends the night before Halloween drinking with his best friend, Blaise Zabini, confiding in the Italian that he plans to propose to Hermione Granger the next evening. But Halloween night sees an Imperio’d Draco dramatically kill the love of his life, much to the sick delight of his Italian puppeteer who then orders him to return to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

**Part II**

**31st October 1998** ****  
  
Draco followed Blaise obediently through the school’s darkened corridors, matching the Italian’s hurried steps past the Great Hall to avoid students coming and going from the annual Halloween feast. The Italian was practically skipping with joy, his companion staring straight ahead as if entranced.  
  
“Oh, Draco,” Blaise sighed blissfully, reaching the Apparition Point outside the main gates, “this _is_ a night to remember—” he lifted his hands up, fingers tapping fingers as victories were counted “—the Mudblood is dead, Potter and his Weasel are off on their wild hippogriff chase searching for the last Horcrux — they’ll never find it, you know — Dumbledore’s in a box... it’s fucking delicious, mate! It really is! _And_ now that Snape and Bellatrix are rotting behind the Veil, I’m _right_ up there with the Dark Lord — _ha!_ To think everyone thought I was neutral in this war. Not to mention you’re now at my beck and call…”

He paused, turning to observe Draco’s slim outline, the hint of a toned seeker’s body teasing from beneath the fitted dark grey dress shirt.

“Actually…”

Blaise dragged his puppet towards the nearest clump of trees, concealing them from the path leading to Hogsmeade and the castle gates. He pressed Draco into the bark, leaning forward to run his nose along that sculpted Malfoy jawline.

_Fucking delicious!_

“We have some time before we’re expected at the Manor, considering you were rather… _efficient_ in your duties earlier, weren’t you, Tesoro? So… shall we... play?”  
  
Draco didn’t flinch as the whistling sound of his zip opening cut through the frigid night air.

“Take out your cock,” Blaise whispered against his ear, “I want to hear you moan my name as I make you come. I’ve wanted you for a long, long time, Draco, and now… now you can be mine.”

His heated gaze focused on pale, slender fingers as Draco reached under the material of his shorts to pull out his cock, all the while staring ahead, awaiting further instruction.  
  
An involuntary shiver had Blaise instantly apologising for being so thoughtless, stepping back to retrieve his wand and casting a Hot-Air Charm over them both.

“Now, where was I?” He pressed his lips to Draco’s briefly, flicking his tongue across the cool unresponsive flesh. “Mmm, don’t you just taste divine?” He cooed, “Kiss me back, Draco. Kiss me like you would _her_. Talk to me like you would Granger.”

Draco obediently reached up to cup Blaise’s face in his hands, gazing into his dark eyes.

“I need you, Blaise,” Draco’s heated breath caressed the Italian’s cheek as he spoke, his words pure silk. “Lying in the bed right next to yours, watching you sleep, getting myself off just by imagining that hard black cock in my mouth… in _me_ … stretching me, making me moan…”

Draco responded to Blaise’s gasps by pressing their bodies closer together; he wasn’t hard, even though he was exposed and slowly rutting against another warm body. His lack of excitement went completely unnoticed though, as Blaise murmured against his cheek — what he wanted Draco to do to him, where he wanted it, with whom…

“I want your cock — _ah!_ — in my arse… and… some skank _— yes! —_ sucking me off,” he panted, “Pity — _there!_ — Granger’s dead.”

“Blaise,” Draco continued, fingers trailing, exposing ripened nipples, “the bitch is gone, it’s just you and me now. We could go anywhere, be together. Let’s—”

He turned them quickly, spinning Blaise back into the roughened bark. Draco moulded his body into the Italian’s once more, unbuckling his trousers, pressing hard against _his_ obvious erection.

“—leave, mon beau. Let’s go where they’ll never find us… fuck until we die.”

“I-I can’t — _ah!_ — Draco…”

“Shh,” Draco’s soothing tones turned Blaise to putty in his hands, “you can—”

“Non-non p-posso, Tesoro,” he stammered, his breath heavy with lust, “I am — _ugh!_ — tied to the… D-dark L-lord — _si, si_ — can’t leave him… unless…”

Blaise cried out when Draco’s hand wrapped around his hardness, hips thrusting forward to fuck those slim fingers he’d often dream about.

“Unless what?” Draco licked the pulse point at Blaise’s neck, sucking on the shaved skin, tasting the overpriced cologne.

“He… dies…” Blaise panted, sucking in a deep breath, “I can’t… leave until — _oh, Gods —_ Draco…”

“Come away with me,” Draco pleaded, dropping to his knees and replacing cold digits with warm, wet lips. “Don’t you want me, mon beau?”

“Merlin — _mio Dio_ — I want your cock… so much,” Blaise was nearly in tears as he groaned, “but I-I can’t… _fuck!”_

Draco pulled Blaise’s hard length into his mouth, hands gripping the Italian’s thighs as trembling fingers curled around his white blond hair. The air filled with sultry sounds of sucking and moaning, lust-filled minutes passing as Draco continued to bring Blaise closer and closer…

Suddenly, he pulled back, standing up straight and grabbing the back of Blaise’s neck, drawing him in for a passionate embrace. Their lips moved in sync, the Italian’s body shaking from the need to come.

“We’ll kill him,” Draco urged, his breath heavy against Blaise’s open mouth, “kill him and leave, you and me… you can have me… all to yourself.” He could feel Blaise nod in acceptance, his shaking fingers clutching at Draco’s shirt. “We can fuck till we’re sore, mon beau, just you… and me. I’ll kill him for you, my love. Tell me… tell me what to do.”

He lowered himself down again, his pale lips bringing Blaise agonizingly close to coming, only to repeat his torturous denial, glancing up through darkened eyes.

“Tell me what to do, Blaise, and you’ll have me.”

The greedy Italian was lost in a haze of pure lust, spewing out the whereabouts of the final Horcrux, the one that would set him free and allow him to bury his cock in Draco’s arse forever.

Draco grinned, his mouth widening around Blaise’s thrusting length. Again, he pulled back, denying… persecuting.

“Draco — _si, si_ — favore… let me come in your mouth. You feel so good… miglior sentimento...”

“Mmm… yes, Blaise, the best; _the best_ for our last night together,” Draco repeated the words he’d whispered to Hermione mere hours before. “Let me tell you all about the trick I’m playing on _you_ now.”

_“What—”_

The crack of Disapparition broke the silence as the pair disappeared into the night air. Blaise landed hard, staggering back against a damp brick wall, ice cold manacles — humming from a magic dampening spell — instantly seizing his wrists and ankles. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, his cock hanging limply against his opened zip.

“Draco, where… where are we? What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” Draco didn’t look up, his expression showing one of pure disgust as he cast _Scourgify_ after _Scourgify_ on his hands and lips, waving his wand directly into his mouth to extinguish the essence of Death Eater.

“I-I order you to let me go!” The chains rattled, their captive frantically trying to pull away from their cold grip, his eyes searching for his wand.

The sharp crack of wood being snapped in two echoed around the small chamber, followed by the skittering of the pieces across the flagstones, finally landing at Blaise’s feet.

“You know,” Draco began, his own hawthorn wand now casting more binding spells around Blaise, “you really should check before you cast an _Imperio_ . I’ve been immune to it for years, _mate,_ thanks to intensive lessons from Severus. And, now that you’ve told us where the last Horcrux is—”

“I… I…”

“Really fucked up, that’s what you did,” Draco chuckled. “Oh, mate, this really _is_ a night to remember.”

Blaise could only watch helplessly as Draco turned away and cast his Patronus — an otter just like Hermione’s — his heart rate rapidly increasing with fear.

“Potter,” Draco spoke to the silvery animal as it gamboled around his feet, “the last Horcrux is a love letter written by Tom Riddle Snr to Merope Gaunt; Voldemort keeps it in a black tourmaline box in his room at Malfoy Manor. Can you get this message to my mother? She has the Basilisk fang safe, she knows what to do. And… Potter, Hermione… tell her I’ll see her soon.”

“Granger…” Blaise croaked, blood trickling down his arms from the roughened manacles.

“Oh, she’s very much alive,” Draco replied, his heart pounding as he really hoped his words were true. “You have _got_ to listen more in class, Blaise, you have to _mean_ an Unforgivable. How could I possibly hurt a hair on Hermione’s head? She’s the fucking love of my life, and _you_ —” he turned his wand towards his captive “—you thought I’d kill her on your orders. You obviously don’t know the meaning of love, Blaise. But, then again, how could you, with a whore for a mother?”

Blaise struggled, sweat glistening on his clammy skin. “Where… am I? Let me—”

“Let you what? _Go?_ _Don’t_... after what you did to me, to Hermione… had me _do_ back there! You sick _fuck!”_

A shuffling noise in the corner of the small room caught Blaise’s attention, his eyes widening as he watched a heap of old bricks rise up from the floor and fly over towards the alcove. They began to settle themselves into a pattern at Blaise’s feet, sealing up the entrance to his small tomb.

“To answer your question,” Draco drawled, twirling his wand over a large cauldron to stir what looked like thick cement, “we’re back at Hogwarts. The wards were adjusted so members of the Order can come and go; handy, right? We’re under the Great Lake, about a mile away from the Slytherin dungeon. Just far enough that — when you’re all blocked up in that tiny space — no one will hear you scream.”

Tears rolled down Blaise’s cheeks as he realised what was happening.

“Pl-please… _mio amico_... Draco…”

The bricks rose up to cover most of their prisoner’s face, circling themselves in front of his head so a small gap was left at eye-level. When the final bricks were inserted, no evidence of the alcove — or its prisoner — would remain.

“You know,” Draco continued, “Hermione introduced me to this wonderful short story called The Cask of Amontillado; at the end — now, sorry about the spoiler alert — Fortunato is buried in the wall. Brilliant, isn’t it? So fucked up, anyway—”

The room was suddenly alight, the sheen from Harry’s Patronus temporarily blinding its occupants.

“Malfoy, she’s alright, Hermione is alright. Voldemort’s dead, your mother is safe at Grimmauld Place. Hermione’s in her room, stubborn witch won’t leave Hogwarts until she sees you. It’s over, Malfoy… it’s over.”

Tears of relief temporarily blurred Draco’s eyesight. He took a moment to compose himself before turning back to his task.

Blaise’s whimpers were muffled by his brick coffin, the only gap now illuminating the whites of his eyes as he continued to plead.

“Please! For the love of Merlin, Draco! _Ti sto implorando!”_

“No, Blaise, for the love of Hermione.”

Draco slid in the final brick, waving his wand towards the cauldron to guide the mortar in an arc towards its final resting place.

He stood still for a moment, listening to the muffled cries within, his shoulders sagging with relief.

“Nemo me impune lacessit,” he whispered. “No one can harm me unpunished.”

If he concentrated hard enough, Draco could just make out the desperate screams from the bricked up alcove as he made his way along the damp passage. It would take him around fifteen minutes to reach the Slytherin dungeon, another five to climb to the Head Girl’s dormitory. Twenty minutes in total.

In twenty minutes she’d be in his arms.

Draco shook as the adrenaline eased, his veins no longer throbbing from the pumping energy. But he knew he wouldn’t feel peace until he saw her… his…

Everything.

* * *

**Over the previous two weeks**

“Are you fucking mad!” He roared, not caring that he was addressing — or rather insulting — Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Order’s longstanding leader.

“Draco,” Arthur warned, a calming hand attempting to ease the boiling tension. “It’s our only option at the moment.”

“I WON’T FUCKING DO IT! DO YOU FUCKING REALISE WHAT—”

“Draco.” Hermione stepped directly in front of him, her tone soft. “Please listen—”

“NO! IT’S MADNESS! It’s… it’s… Merlin, it’s fucking twisted, Hermione.”

He collapsed into the nearest chair and buried his face in his hands.

She knelt down, gently tugging at Draco’s trembling fingers so she could look directly into his silver eyes — an ethereal colour of the fae — glistening with the pain of unshed tears.

“I can’t… I can’t do it, Hermione. What if—”

“You have to _mean_ it, remember? You won’t.”

“I love you.” He didn’t care about the bloody coven surrounding him; ignorant bastards with no fucking clue how dangerous their plan was. He only cared for the reassuring hands and totally undeserved love of the girl in front of him. “I don’t want to do this.”

Kingsley leaned down beside Hermione, resting a hand on the arm of the chair, his tired features matching those of everyone present. In moments like these he abandoned his impeccable manners and spoke with brutal honesty to the young man he admired so much.

“You’ve been through hell to get here, Draco. We appreciate that, believe me. And the constant worry of Narcissa’s safety is playing on all our minds, son. Every bloody day. But—” he rubbed his weary eyes with his thumb and index finger of his free hand “—we can’t let this opportunity go; it’s what we’ve been waiting for. If we can get Zabini to slip where the last Horcrux is, we can end this, Draco. We can get Narcissa here safely, and we can finally be at peace. It’s a lot to ask of you both, I know that. We _all_ know that.”

Draco took a moment to look closely at the Order’s distinguished and charismatic leader; Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at least ten years older these days. Sighing heavily, the young Slytherin — who’d proved his dedication to the light many times over — turned to glance at the surviving members of the Order as they surrounded him, all squeezed into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and waiting with bated breath. They needed him now; they needed the young man they had hated for years but now considered family.

Each one of them looked exhausted; beaten but by no means broken. He saw Arthur’s arm pull Molly closer, Bill’s hands resting protectively against Fleur’s rounding form, Sirius’ thumb tenderly caressing the back of Charlie’s hand. The love between these couples was evident to all in the room and it tugged at Draco’s chest as he recognised the same emotions in _their_ eyes that he felt when he held Hermione in his arms.

At the other end of the long kitchen table, Percy remained a little aloof but the hope in his expression was still evident. Fred and George held the hands of the young women that would never tame them, loving their quirkiness and senses of humour too much, Angelina and Katie — the latter now a good friend to Draco despite their near-fatal history. Ron, the last member of the Order to accept the Slytherin defector — bit his lip hard, waiting impatiently for Draco’s decision. Ginny’s clasped hands highlighted her whitened knuckles while Harry casually leaned against the table top, nodding encouragingly at his former nemesis. Minerva and Andromeda sat near the roaring fire, Teddy bouncing on his grandmother’s knee as his parents were on their way back to Grimmauld Place from a meeting with an informer of Mad-Eye’s. Draco’s head kept turning; so many people, so many friends… family. So many people who needed him to do this so they could be free.

He began to nod slowly, accepting his fate; they would all be free if this plan worked — his mother, young Teddy, Fleur’s unborn child...

Hermione.  

“We’ll need to prepare,” Draco stood, taking his girlfriend’s hand and helping her up. “I’m going to have to practise; how can I do that safely?”

“There’s no way to practise safely,” Hermione informed him, her hands immediately resting on her hips in preparation for another outburst from the volatile blond. “We’re just going to have to make sure we get it right every time.”

Draco glared at her. Surely they could practise on… fucking spiders or something! Then he remembered who he was about to argue with; there was no way she’d allow him to use another living creature. She’d probably have a valid point about not using an Inferi either.

“Fine,” he relented, wagging a finger directly at her, “but I swear to fucking Merlin, Hermione, if this goes wrong and you die, I’ll kill myself immediately so I can fucking annoy you about it for all eternity, right? _And_ , as a spoiled only child, I can fucking whinge for England!”

His retort broke the tension in the room, leaving Remus and Tonks totally confused as they walked into the kitchen to witness howls of laughter.

“I _think_ I want to know,” Remus quipped, “but not right now. We met with Mad-Eye’s informer; we’re set for the night of Halloween.”

Hermione grasped Draco’s hand. “It’ll be alright, Draco,” she promised, “you can do this.”

His expression was grim. “Fancy a Halloween to die for?”

She tried to smile.

Remus and Tonks explained what they’d learned now that Draco had agreed to _kill_ the love of his life. Blaise was currently close to the weakened Dark Lord, a new puppet for Voldemort to play with and cast aside when he became bored. Sadly, the gullible Italian was convinced he was on a path to infinite power and glory; he hadn’t a clue. Poor bastard.

The informer had successfully convinced Voldemort _not_ to target Draco or Harry anymore, but to go straight for the jugular by killing the one person whose death would destroy them both simultaneously — Granger. Her demise would be a major blow to the Order — tearing apart the fragile spirits of the remaining fighters and practically guaranteeing an eventual victory for the Dark Lord.  

Hermione had devised the elaborate scenario; Remus and Tonks informed the turncoat and suggestions were whispered into Voldemort’s ear to pass onto Blaise. Wouldn’t it be such fun to _Imperio_ Draco and have him kill his Mudblood himself?

It would be fucking delicious!

Draco and Hermione spent hours writing their scripts, acting out their parts etc. They rehearsed for hours, the antagonist physically sick many times during the days leading up to Halloween. The thoughts of treating the love of his life so cruelly — dragging her around, tearing her apart with vicious words of hatred and vitriol — it was breaking his heart. He cried every night in Hermione’s arms, apologising over and over again for the way he’d had to speak to her during the day.

She had suggested using the sonata he’d written for her as their ‘dance of death’, knowing he’d played it many times in the music room at Hogwarts so Blaise would recognise it.

“Think about it, Draco! He knows you wrote it for me so — if you make me dance to it — he’s going to truly believe you’re really twisted! You need to be convincing! Killing me to that piece of music is seriously disturbed.”

“I wrote that for you!” Draco was outraged. “After we’d… we’d… _Fuck it_ , Hermione! Don’t you remember?”

The weight of the continuing war had been pressing down on everyone’s shoulders for quite some time so Kingsley arranged a schedule where everyone was given a few days off to get away and recharge their batteries.

Draco had brought Hermione to an unplottable cottage in Cornwall that belonged to Narcissa and on their first night, he’d laid her down in front of a roaring fire, taken her virginity, and given her his heart. The following morning, she’d awoke to find him sitting at an old upright piano, humming to himself as he scribbled out the musical notes to the melody in his head.

He had called it ‘L'amour Vaincra Toujours’.

Love will always conquer.

It should never have been ‘purity’, Draco knew that now.

* * *

**That fateful day**

It was torture sleeping in the dungeons with Blaise, knowing the bastard was so weak-minded he still believed in the power of the Dark Lord and blood purity. Draco had to admit though that his former best friend really was bloody good at acting; if he didn’t know any better, he’d definitely have believed in the Italian’s neutrality and absolute delight in Draco’s plan to propose to Hermione.

It was draining for him to keep his Occlumency shields up permanently but Draco was terrified of being caught out. If he mentally relaxed for even a moment — and Blaise chose that exact time to cast the Unforgivable Curse — Draco was helpless. And Hermione dead.

The twins had devised a spell to protect him during his sleep so, even if Blaise cast _Imperio_ before Draco woke up, the curse would dissipate around him without the caster realising it hadn’t work.

To be on the safe side, Draco remained in bed and waited to see how Blaise spoke to him before getting up.

“Buongiorno, sunshine!” The Italian entered their dormitory a few minutes later, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. “Time to get up. You’ve a busy day, Draco; proposals to make, Mudbloods to kill.”

Thank fuck for Fred and George. Draco made a mental note to donate a massive amount of Galleons to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes as soon as this shit was over.

* * *

**Finale**

He reached the Head Girl’s dormitory, his pulse racing again as he knocked at her door. Hermione had it opened before Draco even managed to tap his knuckles against the dark oak wood a second time, her arms around his neck, breathing him in.

“It’s over, Draco.”

“I know.” He tightened his arms around her, holding her close, silently thanking Merlin for giving him this witch. “I’m so—”

“No, Draco.” Hermione pulled back, her dark eyes searching his. She knew what he was about to do — apologise until he lost his voice and mentally berate himself for his actions. “Don’t you dare! We did what we had to do, alright? And we did it right.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, resting his forehead against hers, “but I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying sorry.”

“You can make it up to me with lots of books and another weekend at your mother’s cottage. Deal?”

Draco grinned. “Deal.”

“Shall we head over to Grimmauld?” She asked, caressing his cheeks tenderly, her heart beating only for the young man in front of her.

The grin changed into an expression Hermione knew very well; a dark look that promised ripped clothes and screaming orgasms.

“Not yet,” he replied, backing her further into the dormitory and kicking the door shut with his foot. “I need to… apologise to you again.”

She laughed, slipping her robes from her shoulders. “Hmm… how about you remind me what our first time was like? Then, tomorrow, I fully expect another sonata.”

He walked towards her, pulling his shirt off and gathering her in his arms.

“I love you so fucking much, Hermione. What happened earlier — I swear I’ll never treat you like that… ever. I want to spend the rest of my life making up for tonight, even if it wasn’t real. I need you to know… you’re it for me.”

He fell to his knees, looking up at her with heartache in his expression.

“If anything had happened — if you had… you know — I wouldn’t have survived long without you. My life will only be worthwhile with you in it. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her fingers running gently through his blond hair, the softness tickling her skin.

“I know, Draco. I feel the same; I’ve always felt the same.”

“I’ve done things tonight, Hermione… with Blaise… to… I-I crossed a line. He’s dead — or he will be soon — but what I had to do to get the information from him… I don’t think I’ll ever feel clean again. Make me feel clean again, please.”

Hermione pulled Draco up to stand in front of her and took his hand, leading him towards the bathroom, helping him out of his remaining clothes and into the shower. She joined him moments later, holding him close as he cried… with relief, disgust, and sheer exhaustion. Her delicate touch washed his hair and body, wiping away his tears, and caressing his lips with her own. They made love against the tiles, his whispers of apology fading to promises of love and a request for her to spend the rest of her life with him.

She said yes.

Their Halloween to die for paving the way for a future to live for.

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> My dad gave me a children's version of Edgar Allan Poe's stories when I was seven. I read The Cask of Amontillado and frightened the shite out of myself.


End file.
